The Price of Freedom
by ScientistSalarian
Summary: The story of Captain Seth Hausier, Rogue Trader and weapons smuggler. He's young, charismatic and willing to do almost anything to achieve his fortune and fame without being weighed down by Imperial protocols.
1. Prologue

Captain Lazarus of the Imperial Navy, commander of the _Emperors Justice_, was not happy. He had just finished an eight hour watch, and had finally been relieved by another officer to get some very much needed sleep when he had been roused over the intercom by a quavering ensign telling him that he was needed once more. Lazarus exclaimed using every curse he knew, pulled on his boots once more and rammed his cap onto his head. He was smoothing out his coat as he strode angrily onto the bridge.

"What is the meaning of my rude awakening?"

The _Emperors Justice_ was a Dictator class Cruiser_,_ and the bridge was filled with walls of terminals and equipment; navigation systems, outer-hull sensors to search the eternal blackness outside for threats, weapon controls, communications for both within the ship and for communicating with planets and other ships. Servitors were plugged into the machines at regular points, and their blank mechanical voices droned their set prayer to the Omnissiah in a low mumble. Officers and ensigns hurried from one machine to another, comparing information, arguing or pressing buttons rapidly. All this movement stopped when the Captain called out, and an eerie silence fell upon the usually bustling place. A single ensign stood up from his post in front of the primary sensors-station, and nervously raised his hand. He swallowed.

"Um…I found something on the sensors, sir…a-and I thought that you would want to see it."

"Well? Out with it man, what am I here to look at?" Lazarus pushed his way through the crowd to the ensign, as they resumed their noisy work.

"Some form of illegal vessel sir" The Captain's eyes widened.

"Are you sure?"

The nervous ensign sitting in front of him nodded and swallowed nervously. The screen in front of him showed the reception from the ship's prow. On the edge of the top of the screen, almost not within range of detection was a single green dot, flashing regularly. The ensign tapped several buttons, and the image of a flashing green dot on radar was replaced with a wall of text, and a computer-generated image of a ship.

"It's definitely a Dauntless class Light Cruiser sir, but there are no such ships registered to be in this system, and they won't reply to our hails."

Lazarus stood up and looked out of the window in front of him, where a million-million stars looked back. One of those blinks of light wasn't a star however, but the engines of a ship that shouldn't be there. Captain Lazarus narrowed his eyes.

"_Pirates_". The ensign swallowed.

"P-pirates?"

"Or smugglers, it makes no difference." He grabbed a random officer out of the crowd. "Alert all crew: battle-stations, prepare to board an enemy vessel." The officer nodded, and ran off yelling orders.

Captain Lazarus shoved an ensign out of his way, and arrived at the communications hub, where the constant background noise of static grated across his hearing, making him grind his teeth. The officer had obviously followed his orders to a tee, as the artificial lights turned to a tinge of red, and an automated voice began calling out over the intercom.

"BATTLE STATIONS. REPEAT: BATTLE STATIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ALL PILOTS REPORT TO THE HANGAR BAYS, ALL TROOPS PREPARE TO BOARD. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. BATTLE STATIONS."

Lazarus nodded his head grimly, and grabbed the shoulder of an officer ordering the Navy ratings at the comms-stations around.

"Get me a direct line with the ship"

"Aye sir"

The Captain ordered for silence, and once again the only sound in the bridge where the clicking and whirring of machines, and the ever-present servitors lost in their own mechanical hells. Lazarus leant on the desk in front of him and spoke in a tone that dripped authority.

"Unknown vessel, you have been sighted on our sensors. Change your course and dock with us in preparation for boarding and inspection, or we will attack, cripple and board your ship anyway. Please respond."

The voice that came back was polite, but somehow portrayed that it had something up its sleeve.

"And what authority do you order this?"

Lazarus bristled.

"My authority as a Captain of the Imperial Navy, and the Emperor himself."

"And to whom am I speaking?"

"Captain Lazarus Cheval, Commander of the Dictator class Cruiser, _Emperor's Justice._ Who are you?"

"Captain Seth Hausier, Commander of the Dauntless class Light Cruiser, _Bell's Wrath_."

"By what authority do you command?"

"My authority as a Rogue Trader"

Lazarus swore. Rogue Traders were always trouble, they believed their licences allowed them to do whatever they want and be entirely above the law, and many of them were no more than pirates or smugglers, foregoing their duty to the Emperor in preference of personal gain. They were scum in Lazarus' eyes, and he took a great deal of pleasure from boarding them, and confiscating their ships and cargo. His mouth became a thin line, scrunched in anger.

"Rogue Trader or no, you will submit to inspection or we will open fire"

"Very well Captain, we are turning around"

"Do not try to avoid your judgement, sir"

"Of course not Captain, I give you my word I shall not 'try anything'".

The Rogue Trader cut the connection, and Lazarus waited on the ensign watching the green blip on the screen as if his life depended on it, sweat trickling down his brow. He suddenly looked up.

"They are changing course sir! Moving into docking position with us!"

The next few minutes were some of Captain Lazarus' most tense in his life, watching the small ship millions of miles away steadily turn around and scoot slowly but steadily towards the _Emperor's Justice_. Lazarus waited for the Rogue Trader to try something, wishing for the bastard to try something so he could open fire and remove one more of the Emperor's enemies.

As the Light Cruiser came closer, the details of its hull became more apparent to the Captains scrutiny. Near to the front of the ship, Lazarus noticed a painting of a scantily dressed red-headed woman throwing back her head and laughing, next to her head; written in garish blue paint were the words _Bell's Wrath_. The ship's hull itself bore the usual pocks and scars from asteroids and flotsam crashing into it during space travel. The hull itself was the usual Imperial colours of dark green and gold, but stripes of dark, blood-like scarlet paint covered the main batteries and prow. Lazarus' knuckled went white as he grabbed the desk in front of him.

"_These damn Rogue Traders. How dare they deface an Imperial vessel in this way! And what sort of a name is Bells Wrath? I am certain no priest of the __Ecclesiarchy blessed this ship!" _Lazarus fumed.

The enemy ship was almost in line to dock with the _Emperor's Justice_, Captain Lazarus was about to leave the bridge to lead the investigation himself, when the Navy rating in front of the communications caught his arm.

"What is it?" Lazarus was impatient, and touching a commanding officer was a breach of Navy protocols.

"Sir, the pirate Sir, h-he's requesting a direct line"

Lazarus paused. The Emperor-damned Trader may be attempting a last-minute reprieve, possibly striving to strike up a deal, or even try to bribe Lazarus. Captain Lazarus thoroughly enjoyed shooting down any hopes Pirates had of getting away free, just before he clapped them in irons.

"Put him through"

The Rouge Trader, Captain Hausier sounded if anything even more relaxed than previously.

"Hello Captain Lazarus"

"What do you want Pirate?"

"Who says I am a pirate?"

"I do"

"Well, if you must know I'm more of a smuggler. It's not that I haven't stolen ships, you are in fact looking at my most recent conquest, but I've always found weapon smuggling to be less risk-filled and even more profitable in the long run."

"I do not care what pitiful name you give yourself, you are the scum of Imperial space, and I will bring you down. Now hurry up and dock, so you can submit to the Emperor's Justice" Lazarus snarled.

"Now who says I won't just run away? You and I both know that my ship is far more agile than yours. I can be in the next system by the time you've turned around". Hausier replied conversationally.

Lazarus blanched. "You gave me your word Hausier!"

The Rogue Trader's reply was shouted over the sudden deep rumbling coming from outside of the _Emperor's Justice_.

"Never trust a smuggler Captain!" A novice stood up from his post and screamed over the sound.

"They have started up their plasma drives Sir!"

Captain Lazarus charged across the bridge to the sensors and watched, completely helpless as the self-accused smuggler sped away from the _Emperor's Justice_. Lazarus punched the screen in front of him in a rage, smashing the glass and cutting his knuckles badly. He roared at the officer at the navigation system.

"Follow that bloody Pirate! I will have his head!"


	2. Chapter 1

Captain Seth Hausier smiled to himself and leant back in his chair. It was a straight back leather armchair, which had been adapted to have a reclining feature. Seth knew that most ship captains preferred to stay on their feet, so they can move quickly from one station to another on the bridge. The _Belle's Wrath _was a small ship, and Seth could easily communicate with all crewmembers on the bridge simply by raising his voice.

Seth leant forwards and stared out at the infinite number of spots of light out in front of him. Seth had been living on and off of ships his entire life, but the view of space in front of him never ceased to amaze him. His reflection stared back at him; Seth studied his appearance, running a hand along his jawline. Seth had always thought of himself as ruggedly handsome, and the women he had met in his life had never disagreed with that description. His hair was black, and oiled down in a way that was currently fashionable amongst young nobles on Omega III. Course black stubble covered his upper lip and chin; the stubble also followed his strong jaw up to his hairline. His eyes were a deep blue that seemed to exude honesty, which was very useful for a man that lied for a living. Seth was dressed in a black tricorn hat with silver lining, a majestic yet light long-coat in a deep red colour, a white shirt, black trousers and black boots that shined. Rogue Traders were known to be garish and eccentric in their tastes and style, and Seth was no exception. All of his clothes were of exquisite quality and obviously very expensive.

The crew on the bridge were currently bickering quietly amongst themselves, debating whether the cruiser they had just eluded would follow them. Seth cared little whether they Imperials would attempt a chase or not. In a little under six hours they would be in the Omega system, and an hour after that they'd be safely docked in the port of Hyrax hive on Omega III. If the cruiser tried to follow them there, they would be stuck for days in security checks and inspections from the ever-wary Planetary Governor.

Seth's thoughts of victory were interrupted when the door to the elevator behind him hissed open, and the sound of stomping booted feet announced the arrival of the _Belle's Wrath _second-in-command, Sergeant Major Hank Brawnley. The ex-soldier was forced to flee the military after looting, and then murdering a fellow officer almost a decade ago, but he still insisted of using his old rank. The gruff veteran was from the jungle deathworld Omega I. They made short men, but level-headed and quick, both in body and mind. Brawnley was unlike most natives of Omega I, in that he was broad-shouldered, and his chest and limbs were thick with corded muscle. Brawnley was known by the crew as Papa Bear, both because of his protective nature towards the crew, and his huge bushy beard. It was made of thick curls, much like his hair, and a light chestnut colour. He was rarely seen in anything other than combat trousers, scuffed boots and a t-shirt, and he failed to surprise now. Brawnley was known to be blunt, gruff and worse than useless in negotiations. He made up for it however, with his extensive experience in fighting in a myriad of warzones, as well as his ability of playing the perfect 'bad cop' in interrogations.

Brawnley stomped over to Seth's chair, where he saluted and stood with his hands behind his back, legs spread in a standard 'at ease' stance. Seth gave him a sidelong glance, smirking. The Captain had always found his second-in-commands continued discipline to be incredibly amusing. Brawnley spent most of his time in the crew quarters, ordering around the crew or managing supplies. He only ever came up to the bridge when something had gone horribly wrong. Seth motioned for Brawnley to speak.

"Sir, we have a problem"

"If we didn't, I doubt you would be here, Brawnley. I never get to enjoy your company unless calamity arises"

"I just checked the package on a hunch"

"The package of hellpistols and shotguns that we're supposed to be delivering to the infamous crime lady, Madame Zafir?"

"Yes sir"

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's empty"

Seth's smile froze. "….empty"

"Yes sir"

"Are you sure you looked in the right crate? There are a lot of them in the hold. It is easy to get confused"

"I looked in the right box sure. And it's empty"

"We've been swindled out of our shipment"

"Yes sir"

"Madame Zafir will not be happy"

"No sir"

"I'm probably going to get shot, aren't I?"

"Knowing Madame Zafir, I would assume so sir"

Seth leant back in his chair, and sighed. "And today was going so well"

Madame Zafir was known more for her ruthlessness in the criminal underworld and viscous punishment to those that fail her than her beauty and grace. Everyone knew that the Madame was a sour old woman who despised man as a rule, but no-one would dare say such to her face. Seth had worked for her previously during his early years as captain of the _Belle's Wrath_, and it rarely went well. Madame Zafir has hated the opposite sex ever since she was sold to her then husband as a slave. She managed to persuade him to not only free her, but marry her. She then murdered her and took over his illegal businesses. She always gave the man working under her the most difficult and risky work, and never took failure lightly. Seth still bore the scars from when he lost his last shipment to rival smugglers.

Seth knew he had to think of a solution quick, otherwise it would be safer to simply cut and run instead of having to face the wrath of Madame Zafir. He rubbed his face with both hands. He hadn't slept in around thirty hours, usually it didn't faze him, but the impeding likeliness of a tongue-lashing and torture suddenly made him feel much older. He turned to Brawnley.

"Do you by chance know where we can get a thousand hellpistols and shotguns?"

"No sir"

"Hrmmmmm…bring the officers together, we need to work this out. My quarters, fifteen minutes" Seth sprung up from his chair, he was nearing thirty years old, but retained the energy of a child. He yelled over his shoulder to the crew manning the bridge as he strode to the elevator.

"Keep the ship orbiting once we reach Omega III, whatever you do, do not land!"


	3. Chapter 2

The Captains quarters had been furnished with mahogany and golden furniture, priceless paintings had covered the walls and various jewelled decorations adorned the mantelpiece. During the attack on the ship when Seth and his crew had boarded and taken the Dauntless class light cruiser for themselves, the quarters had been completely ransacked and destroyed. Seth spent so much time on the bridge, drinking with his crew or outside of the ship setting up deals; he rarely even spent time in his room, and had done little to repair it. A simple metal-framed bed was shoved in one corner; a simple wooden desk was set up to one side, covered with dataslates and various personal affects. In the centre of the room sat a large ebony table, all that was left of the original contents. The walls remained blank, and the carpet was musty from lack of care. Seth sat at the head of the table, pistol in several pieces in front of him. It was a standard issue auto-pistol, issued to Imperial Navy officers. It was heavier calibre than regular auto-pistols, built to last with special fragmenting ammunition designed to inflict minimal damage to ship systems. He expertly checked and cleaned each piece before setting them down on a square of red cloth. He slid it to one side and addressed the officers in front of him.

To his rights sat Brawnley, his visible features set in his usual scowl. Opposite Brawnley sat the infamous desperado and sharpshooter, Styx Ripfist. He was a tall and skinny man; bright intelligent eyes sparkled in a long, pinched face. His right hand was cursed with an ugly scar from the time an ork squig attempted to bite his hand off. He was dressed in grubby civilian clothes with his classic duster over the top, patched in a dozen places. His beloved hunting rifle was leaning against the table next to him, whilst his chest was covered in holsters where six revolvers lay. He had joined up with Seth's crew when he had been abandoned by his previous gang, and had no-where else to go. The man had attempted a coup on Seth multiple times, and each time Seth had ridiculed him in front of the entire crew. Despite this, Styx and Seth were fast friends, and Styx had been unofficially promoted by the crew to be their spokesperson during meetings with the officers.

The final officer at the table was the head engineer. He sat sullen and silent, his features hidden as they always were by an old fashioned gas mask with darkened eye-pieces. He was from the native to the deathworld Cyralix Beta, shown from his dark chocolate skin. The engineer was a large man, tall with broad shoulders and strong, calloused hands. Most of his implants were hidden by a light robe and suit of mesh armour. Draxus Vulkan had once been a celebrated Magos of the Cult Mechanicus and servant to the Machine God. He had been disgraced and thrown out of the order however, when his curiosity had grown too great, and he had committed heinous heresy, through upgrading a number of Imperial Leman Russ' and Chimera's, using methods untested by any Enginseer before him. Vulkan fled the order before they could rip out his implants and turn him into a cyborg slave; a servitor. He rarely spoke and spent almost all his time hidden in the dark and sweltering engine room, secluded and haunted by his own demons.

"Alright boys, we need a fix for this situation" Seth steepled his fingers and waited for the men in front of him to speak. Styx leant back in his seat and grinned at the Captain.

"Who says we need a fix? Madame Zafir may despise us, but she knows that we're the best smugglers willing to work for her. All you have to do is submit yourself to a little light torturing, and we can carry on with our next job."

Seth glared at Styx, and shook his head grinning "So you can take my ship while I'm locked up in chains in Madame Zafir's basement? I think not. Any suggestions Brawnley?" Brawnley's bushy eyebrows were squashed together as he frowned even deeper than normal.

"For once, I agree with Ripfist sir. We've both been through Madame Zafir's punishments, and we are the best of her freelancers, so she won't hurt you enough to stop you completing a new job. And don't worry about Ripfist sir, I'll keep an eye on him" Seth threw his arms into the air on mock disgust.

"So my supposedly closest friends refuse to even try to save me from torture? Vulkan, please tell me you still have some loyalty to your captain?"

Draxus was silent for several minutes, his black eye-pieces shining in the light as the other officers waited for him to speak. When he finally did begin to talk, his voice was deep and slightly muffled by the mask.

"I believe that I may have an idea. Not necessarily a solution, but possibly an offering that will soften the blows you will undoubtedly receive."

"Well?"

"Forty minutes from our current position in space is the planet Yssia. It is uninhabited currently, except from a small Imperial outpost. I assisted in its construction forty years ago. The outpost is simply for precautions, and the outpost has seen no military action. Its garrison will be minimal, and those Troopers that will be there are likely to be lax and undisciplined. Imperial regulations decree any outpost must maintain a certain level of weapons and supplies, meaning there will be a surplus of weapons."

Seth leant forward, suddenly very interested.

"Do you reckon they'll have hellpistols and shotguns?"

"It is possible, but not in the quantity of the shipment. What I suggest we do is raid the outpost's armoury for all its weapons. The contents, while not exactly what Madame Zafir requested, it should equal the worth of the original shipment in monetary value. Though this will not fully please Madame Zafir, it will certainly make sure she does not lose anything, which will hopefully lessen your punishment, partially finding a solution to this conundrum"

Seth was silent for a few seconds, staring straight forwards but not really seeing. He suddenly slid the fold of cloth that held the parts of his pistol together back in front of him, and began expertly piecing it back together. As he did so, he shot off orders to the others.

"Brawnley, get to the bridge and get the ship into an orbit around this planet. Vulkan, go down to the hanger and get the shuttle ready. Styx, gather a team of say, half a dozen men. I want level-headed types that won't snap under pressure. We meet in the hanger in fifteen minutes people, we have a robbery to do".


	4. Chapter 3

By the time Seth arrived at the hangar bay, a small group of people were loitering around one of the shuttles. Vulkan and an engineer in grubby, oil-stained overalls were completing the final checks. Along with his pistol, Seth had donned a slim, slightly curved power sword with an engraved hilt. Branwley stood with his arms folded over a flak vest as he gave a terrified looking young recruit a vicious tongue lashing. Styx was sharing a final lho stick with a grizzled crewman with one eye called Kal. Seth clapped his hands, and the sound echoed around the huge, mostly empty room.

The crew turned around, and with Brawnley's encouragement, saluted. They were all veterans, had been on ships all of their lives and had worked for Seth for several years. They were all equipped with a varied selection of weapons, each modified and customized by the individual. Each man had a bandana or strip of cloth or leather around their necks, to put over the lower half of their faces when they attack the outpost. A suggestion given by the unofficial mission specialist, an ex-bank heister known to the crew as Three of Nine, or just Nines. With a nod from their Captain, the crew filed onto the shuttle, while Vulkan hopped into the pilots cockpit with agility abnormal for his size. Seth joined the crew in the back of the shuttle, and punched the button to close the door. He took a place near to the front of the shuttle, and activated the in-shuttle intercom next to his seat.

"Ready to move Draxus"

"Affirmative Captain"

Seth sat up straight and put on his harness and checked to see that everyone else had theirs on. Branwley, who had spent years in shuttles being transported from one battle to the next, had perfected the complicated art of the shuttle harness, and after checking everyone else's, he tightened Seth's then strapped himself in. Seth tried to say something to Branwley, but his voice was drowned out by the roaring of the engines starting up. Seth felt his blood rush to his legs as the shuttle rose up and left the ship. The next few minutes were filled with the constant deep rumble of the thrusters, and the steady increase in vibrations and shaking through the shuttle as it went further into the planet's atmosphere. The crewmen dealt with the violent shaking, roaring noise and massive increase in pressure in different ways. Some simply sat, knuckles white as they clutched their harnesses and clenched their eyes shut. Others made the symbol of the Imperial Eagles over their chests as they prayed for their deliverance to the planet surface safely.

As quickly as the shaking and noise arrived, it subsided, announcing their arrival within the planet's atmosphere. Many of the crew relaxed, and began chatting happily with one another. Seth leant over and activated the intercom again.

"Vulkan, how far to the outpost?"

"7 minutes Captain, I have spotted a clearing we can land in, which will give us enough cover to approach the outpost under the cover of the treeline."

"Good"

The shuttle landed, and the group filed out of the shuttle. Vulkan hopped down from the cockpit, and joined the other smugglers. The clearing was small; barely big enough to fit the shuttle, which was proof of Vulkan's piloting skills. The area around the shuttle was thick with soldier pines; the floor was covered with their needles that crunched under the parties boots.

Vulkan suddenly nudged Seth pointed silently up at the sky. Half a mile or so ahead of them, a great plume of thick black smoke drifted sluggishly into the sky, a very bad sign on the condition of the outpost. Seth shook his head, determined to retrieve the weapons they needed, and signalled the advance. The crew got steadily more and more uneasy as they approached the outpost. Obvious signs of a firefight were spotted regularly; empty power packs, shell casings, areas of heavily disturbed pine needles, blood splattering on trees and the ground. As they got even closer, the stink of burning flesh and petrol assaulted their senses. Many of the crew began to get very nervous, they fingered various lucky trinkets they kept about their person, and whispered unhappily amongst each other. Seth was no more pleased to be there, he knew if this mission failed, he would be down the creek without a paddle if he ever returned to Madame Zafir, but everything about this had the heady stink if Chaos involvement. If Seth was leading his crew into a Chaos invasion, he would be dead before he got the chance to regret the decision.

As he was thinking this, he suddenly walked into the back of Styx, who was standing with his mouth open, rifle hanging loosely from his hand. Brawnley hissed angrily through his teeth, and made the sign of the eagle over his chest. The crew were completely frozen with shock and fear, their eyes wide and their mouths gaping open. Vulkan stood brooding and silent as ever, but his large, strong hands were tightening slowly into fists.

The outpost outer wall was nothing unusual, made of huge concrete slabs, and painted a dark green to blend in with the thick treeline surrounding it. The dark green walls were now covered in dark stains. Huge, crude rail spikes were hammered into the top of the wall, where still-living guardsmen hung, nailed up by their shoulders and arms, their blood seeping slowly down the wall from a dozen wounds. Their blood had been used to paint foul symbols on the wall that hurt the eyes to look at closely. The older and more grizzled members of the crew recovered the quickest, Brawnley and Kal spat in disgust and raised their weapons, ready for some revenge for the hanging soldiers. Some of the younger smugglers were less resilient so such horrors, and Nines had to sneak away back into the treeline to be violently ill. Vulkan approached Seth, and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Do we call of the mission, Captain?"

Seth's jaw clenched "Hells no, we go in and get those weapons. We just do so with more…caution." He pulled his pistol from its holster under his jacket, and thumbed off the safety. The others took his lead; autoguns were loaded, shotguns pumped and lasguns were powered up with short, high-pitched whines.


End file.
